


The Ultimate Fuck You

by Delirious21



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Unrequited Love, confession turned philosophy lesson, poor mims
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22309339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirious21/pseuds/Delirious21
Summary: Minimus Ambus worked long and hard to scrounge up the confidence it took to confess to Megatron, but it didn't go quite as planned. Nothing ever did.
Relationships: Megatron/Minimus Ambus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	The Ultimate Fuck You

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short little beeb since I'm running in circles with my ongoing fic 😕
> 
> Enjoy, lovelies!

It wasn’t often that Megatron and Minimus Ambus got more than a few moments to themselves. Whether it was from fault of their own or unavoidable circumstance, both had their suspicions. Minimus felt trapped in the Magnus armor, suffocating on his own fumes. He’d approached Megatron as they transitioned from first to second shift. Megatron had taken the early hours and he the latter. 

One servo holding open the door to his office, Minimus wondered if Ultra Magnus would try to run from the situation he landed himself in the second he beckoned Megatron over and into the privacy of his office. The ex-warlord moved with no lack of grace, faceplatets remaining ever stoic. Minimus hoped the armor’s face looked the same. 

“Thank you,” Minimus said, and it came out a low, commanding rumble in a voice he could only wish was his own. 

Megatron didn’t bother to sit. He stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed and optics squinting. “No need to thank me,” he answered. “What is it you need?” Was that snide or forced respect?

Minimus, fidgeting and hoping it didn’t show through the armor, closed the door and worked his way to his desk. Attempting casual --and failing-- he leaned on the edge, folding and unfolding his arms. “May I pose a hypothetical question?” he asked. Perhaps if he skirted around the truth, it would make it easier to accept rejection. 

Megatron inclined his helm.

“Say a mech, an enemy-turned-friend, were to approach you with a spark-felt, earnest confession. How would you react?” Only once it left his mouth did he realize just how obvious and forward that was. Ultra Magnus would never say something like that. No, he’d be regal and valiant even in pursuing a relationship. Minimus clenched his fists but hid it by crossing his arms again. 

The silver mech shuttered his optics and exvented, slow. “Is this how you are going to confess to me, Minimus Ambus?” His optics fixed on him, searing reds that could see right through the Magnus armor. "Hiding behind a dead Autobot’s face, under his guise.” He paused. “Tell me what you want, without the hypotheticals and without the mask.”

Minimus hesitated for the demand of vulnerability. He set his jaw and scowled through the armor. “No.”

Megatron watched him with scrutinizing, keen optics. “What do you want then, Ultra Magnus?”

The ultimate fuck you. Minimus debated taking his armor off piece by piece if only to use it as a weapon against this damned mech. And yet his spark was repulsed by the thought. Voice even, he said, “Why do I need to want something other than you?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Because that’s how Cybertronians work. We are inherently greedy, always grasping for something more than we can have. It’s in our nature.”

“We’ve been around for millenia, but you don’t think change from the ‘inherent’ natural is possible?” If anyone, Megatron should be the one to understand how a mech can change. Or had he changed at all? Minimus frowned at the thought. 

“No. We can fool ourselves, say we’ve evolved, but when it comes down to it we are aggressive, carnal metal beasts.”

Minimus exvented sharply, annoyance peaking. “I will never agree with that. If I have hope for the future --any at all-- I can’t.”

“Hope is frail.” Megatron grimaced, as if the very idea was bitter in his intake. 

“And pain is solid?” Minimus unfolded his arms, bracing his servos on the edge of his desk. “Can you live, truly live, solely focusing and enduring pain and suffering?”

The look in his optics answered, darkening reds reflecting the ugly scars of a past that would never fade. 

Minimus floundered, caught off guard by the vulnerability, the rawness of Megatron’s reaction. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“No, you are right,” Megatron said, headed for the door. “If pain isn’t reliable, what is? Love? Pft. Love is just as flaky and figmented as hope.”

Minimus squared his shoulders, the Magnus armor doing the same. “What you make me feel, it is not flaky or frail.” 

Megatron was half way out the door, helm twisted back to look at the load-bearer and his load. “Then what you feel is not love.”


End file.
